Rannoch, by Glencoe Thomas Adès

Here the crow starves, here the patient stag
Breeds for the rifle. Between the soft moor
And the soft sky, scarcely room
To leap or soar. Substance crumbles, in the thin air
Moon cold or moon hot. The road winds in
Listlessness of ancient war
Langour of broken steel
Clamour of confused wrong, apt
In silence. Memory is strong
Beyond the bone. Pride snapped
Shadow of pride is long, in the long pass
No concurrence of bone